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I never shall forget how kindly my minister 
addressed me, as I once asked his advice on 
an important undertaking. 

See page 20th. 



IT EOS HSVIBXR* 



SKETCHES OF THE CHARACTER 



REV. CHARLES JENKINS, 



LATE OF PORTLAND. 



BY D. C. COLESWORTHY, 

Author of' Common Incidents,' and ' My Teacher. 



PORTLAND : 

5. H. «OLESWORTHY 

1836. 








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INTRODUCTION. 



The subject of these sketches, the Rev. Charles 
Jenkins, late pastor of the third Congregational Church 
in Portland, is well known to the Christian public as a 
man eminent for piety — a minister after God's own 
heart. He was truly a remarkable man, and not till his 
labors had ceased was his w T orth duly appreciated. He 
never spoke but to some purpose. But such men speak 
even when they are dead. His writings, his sayings are 
treasures indeed — apples of gold in pictures of silver. 
Feeling the importance of a preservation of some of his 
thoughts, though many of them loosely dropped, which 
would otherwise be forgotten and lost, has induced the 
author to write the following pages. In much diffidence 
he presents them to the public, with no other motive, 
than that they may do good, and lead others to the same 
life of devotion and piety. 

July, 1833. 



a2 






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MY MINISTER. 



CHAPTER I. 



When any one is called to leave the 
little circle in which he moved below, to 
join the assembly of the ; just made perfect ' 
above, we sensibly feel our loss ; but never 
more so, than when a faithful shepherd is 
removed from his beloved flock. When a 
minister dies — such a one as never shun- 
ned to declare the whole counsel of God — 
who was always ready to pour the balm of 
consolation into the mourner's breast, and 
soothe and comfort the afflicted and the 
distressed — when such a one is no more, 



D MY MINISTER. 

many hearts are filled with grief and sorrow. 
I remember very well my own feelings, 
when I heard of the sudden exit of the de- 
voted and successful pastor, under whose 
preaching I had sat for many years, and for 
whom I felt a very strong attachment. He 
was cut down in the midst of his years — 
in the dawn of his usefulness. At noon his 
sun went down. The cause of his divine 
Master lay near his heart ; and he was nev- 
er weary in the performance of duty. He 
besought, warned, entreated sinners to be 
reconciled to God. He appealed to the 
conscience and the heart, and his words 
did not unfrequently take effect. He was 
gifted with much native talent. He was 
often eloquent. In his daily conversation 
he used the utmost precaution that he of- 
fended not with his lips. None were more 
guarded in their speech than he. I have 
often wondered at his long silence, after a 
question had been put to him. He consid- 
ered it in all its bearings, before the answer 
escaped from his lips. He was sincere in 



MY MINISTER. 7 

every thing ; and thus secured the affec- 
tion of all who knew him. 

Such was the man from whom I had heard 
expounded the oracles of God — from whom 
I had received advice and counsel — from 
whom I had learned to walk, as I humbly 
hope, as the children of light ; but mustcon- 
fess to my shame, that I have come far short 
of my sainted pattern, in the fulfilment of 
duty. But he is no more ; his voice is hush- 
ed in death. I shall never again behold 
him clothed in mortality. Often, at the 
tolling of the Sabbath bell, have I entered 
the house of God, since the removal of my 
pastor, and in imagination beheld him pass- 
ing up the aisle, and entering the sacred 
desk. I cannot realize that he is no more. 
It appears almost incredible. But yester- 
day, as it were, in all the strength of man- 
hood, he stood forth, active on the busy 
stage of life. To-day, he is gone. How 
often I am led to think of the brevity of 
life and the uncertainty of all human affairs. 
How true is Scripture, when it compares 



8 MY MINISTER. 

man's existence to a shadow — a vapor — 
a flower of the field — the grass, which 
flourishes in the morning, and at night is 
cut down and withered. In a few days — a 
very few — I too shall be a slumberer be- 
neath the valley's clod. And so, little read- 
er, will you. Let us, then, walk as the 
children of God, and, day by day, be pre- 
paring for the glories of heaven. 



CHAPTER II. 

No one ever felt more the importance of 
the sacred office of the ministry, than did 
my pastor. He often trembled in view of 
the account he should have to render to his 
Judge, if he were not faithful to persuade, 
warn and entreat the impenitent to become 
the disciples of Jesus. But he was faithful : 
and I trust the reward of those who turn 
many to righteousness will be his. 6 It is 
not the labors of ministers that wear them 



MY MINISTER. y 

out,' said he, 'but the anxiety they feel for 
the people under their charge.' And whole 
nights has he been known to lay awake, in- 
terceding with God, for those who were 
committed to his care. Thus did he wear 
out his life, in laboring for the good of sin- 
ners. He appeared to feel that his stay on 
earth was short — and that wbat he had to 
do must be done quickly. It was not his 
object merely to please — but to touch the 
heart. He never feared to speak to c ears 
polite,' but affectionately besought all to 
walk in the narrow way of life. — The rich, 
the poor, the learned, the ignorant were 
alike told of their depravity of heart, in 
their interviews w 7 ith him, as well as in the 
great congregation. For the young he felt 
a great deal ; more than my feeble words 
can express. He often addressed them in 
a kind and tender manner; and when he 
died, they lost a friend — an inestimable 
friend, whose loss could not easily be made 
up. He was anxious that the children of 
his church should all be brought under re- 



10 MY MINISTER. 

ligious instruction in the Sabbath school, 
and early be made acquainted with Jesus. 
But it was no easy matter for him to ad- 
dress a congregation of children. ' The 
most difficult sermons I write,' said he to 
me, ' are those addressed to children — I 
cannot easily bring down my ideas to their 
capacity.' But it is hoped the precious 
seeds sown in their hearts by him, were not 
wholly lost. 

Dear children, as one and another of your 
best friends are removed by death, be pre- 
pared yourselves to meet them in heaven. 

The following Paraphrase on the 23d 
Psalm, was written by my minister, at the 
request of a young lady. 

I shall not want — I shall not want, 

For God my Shepherd will supply 
The boundlessness for which I pant, 

The quietness for which I sigh. 
I shall not sink — I shall not sink, 

Amid this restless toil for rest — 
He '11 cheer me near the water's brink, 

Upon the pasture's verdant breast. 
I shall not stray — I shall not stray, 

While here I tread life's mazy shore ; 



MY MINISTER. 1 1 

He 'H lead me safely all the way, 

My wanderings guide, my feet restore. 

I shall not yield — I shall not yield 
To foes, stern, threatning to destroy, 

Since calm, beneath his guardian shield, 
I share the cup of peaceful joy. 

I shall not need — 1 shall not need 
One real good that earth bestows, 

While not upon its broken reed, 
But on Jehovah I repose. 

Nor shall I fear — nor shall I fear 
To pass alone death's shadowy vale ; 

His own sweet comforts shall be there, 
My Shepherd's staff can never fail. 

Nor can I tell — nor can I tell, 

When earth is passed, what I shall be ; 

But in his temple I shall dwell, 
And love and praise eternally. 

Reposing on Jehovah, in the language of 
a friend, my minister c has passed alone the 
shadowy vale of death ; he did experience 
support from his Shepherd's staff — and he 
now dwells in the temple of God ; he is 
singing halleluiahs to the Lamb.' 



12 MY MINISTER. 



CHAPTER III. 

This world is a world of affliction. None 
are exempted from those sorrows which fill 
the heart, when a near and dear friend is 
removed by death. The Christian and the 
worldling, the young and the old, must 
alike experience the bitterness of grief. 
And blessed is he, who can look through 
all the afflictions of life, and with child-like 
simplicity exclaim, c It is my Father's rod 
— I will not repine.' My minister was of- 
ten sorely afflicted, by the removal of one 
and another whom he dearly loved. But 
knowing that it is God who chastiseth for 
our good, he resignedly committed his dy- 
ing friends into his hands, and found that 
comfort and consolation which the world 
can neither give nor take away. And he 
well knew how to comfort the sorrowing. 
He felt, he pitied, he prayed for them. — 
' Do be comforted, 5 said he to one, who was 



MY MINISTER. 16 

bowed down beneath a load of grief, after 
he had conversed freely on the kindness 
and compassion of God — 'Now, do be com- 
forted.' And his words were refreshing to 
the afflicted soul. 

My minister was severely tried by the 
death of his nearest earthly relative. The 
following extracts are from the sermon he 
preached a few Sabbaths after the afflictive 
event. Mark with what feeling every sen- 
tence is penned. 

It is true indeed, that < I am the man that 
hath seen affliction.' The tempest that 
blasted my hopes, has indeed, passed by — 
the billows that have long rolled over me, 
are beginning to subside ; but they leave a 
dreary desolation — a cheerless expanse ; 
a wide waste stretches around me. ' The 
solitary place ' is not gladdened, and no 
blossoms smile along ' the wilderness of life.' 
1 The desire of my eyes ' is taken away from 
me. Although she is not lost to happiness 
and heaven, she is lost for a season to me. 
I shall behold her face and hear her voice 



14 JVIY MINISTER. 

no more. She is gone, and left me bereav- 
ed and desolate, i like the pelican in the 
wilderness ; like the sparrow alone on the 
house top.' 

With the mass of mankind, life is ' a vale 
of tears.' They are made to drink deep 
and often of the bitter cup of adversity. 
Instead of basking on the sunny side of 
life, theirs is a painful passage through a 
desert world. Sorrow's tears incessantly 
fill their eyes. Their hearts are more fre- 
quently pierced with anguish, than thrilled 
with emotions of pleasure. And the gleams 
of joy, which sometimes dart upon their 
souls, are 

1 Like angels' visits, few and far between.' 

When our friends are removed by death, 
they are ' put far away from us.' The dear 
spot where their loved ashes are slumber- 
ing, may indeed be within the limits of our 
daily walks. We may press with our throb- 
bing bosoms the cold clods that rest upon 
theirs — we may water with our tears the 
green grass that waves over their lowly 



MY MINISTER. 15 

bed — we may kiss the wild flower that 
there breathes its virgin fragrance ; but 
they are not there. The grave does not 
take all. The immortal principle, the in- 
telligent, conscious being is gone. The 
'earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolv- 
ed ' — but the soul has escaped from its ru- 
ins. From material scenes it has become a 
dweller in a spiritual world. Disencum- 
bered of flesh and sense, it has gone to be 
forever the subject, either of spiritual joys, 
or of spiritual sorrows. 

We shall go to our friends, but they will 
not return to us. The verdure of spring 
shall bloom and die upon their graves. The 
breeze of summer and the blasts of winter 
shall successively pour their varied music 
over their mouldering sepulcher. The earth 
shall continue to wheel its annual circuit. 
Those orbs which dart their devious flight 
amidst ' empyreal wastes,' shall again and 
again return from their long career of ages 
— but our deceased friends shall return 
no more. 



16 MY MINISTER. 

Among the afflictions which are dreaded 
as most painful, and experienced as most 
overwhelming, is the removal of endeared 
friends by death. A variety of circumstan- 
ces, however, may vary the degree of its 
intensity. Is the beloved object removed 
a child ? The parent's heart must be wrung 
with untold anguish. Is it an only son ? 
What nameless agonies must this circum- 
stance occasion ! Is it the only son of a 
widowed parent? Who can describe the 
degree of intensity which the accumulation 
of these circumstances must add to the af- 
fliction of losing a beloved child ? But 
great as must be such a loss, and agonizing 
as must be such a bereavement, the afflic- 
tion is undoubtedly surpassed, by the dis- 
ruption of those ties which are entwined 
around the heart by conjugal endearment. 

He or she who was one with you in taste, 
in sentiment, in hopes, in joys, and in sor- 
rows, ' is put far away from you.' Perhaps 
you long watched around the agonized bed 
of your 'dearer self.' At that 'dreadful 



MY MINISTER. 17 

post of observation ' you saw the energies 
of life gradually decay. You beheld those 
eves,which once were the mirror of thought, 
grow dull. You saw the countenance, 
which once was flushed with health, and 
gladdened with smiles, assume the ghastli- 
ness of death. Your ears drank in with 
eagerness the last expressions of the im- 
mortal mind, just beginning ' the travel of 
eternity.' And when the last hollow groan 
was over — 

' Can you recollect the feeling ? 

No ! there was no feeling there ! 
From that gloomy trance of sorrow, 

When you woke to pangs unknown, 
How unwelcome was the morrow. 

For it rose on you — aloxe.' 

He has gone to his friend. But a few 
years' separation, and he is again united to 
her in the bonds of everlasting love. 

How short is life ! How soon w r ill thy 
eves, dear reader, be sealed in death — and 
this hand be motionless in the grave. O, 
that we might so live, that our end will be 
peace ! 

B 



IS MY MINISTER. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A young man was conversing with my 
minister, in relation to his pursuing a course 
of studies, preparatory to his entering the 
gospel ministry, when he asked him the 
question — 

' Why do you wish to become a minister ?' 

'Because I think I can do more good,' 
was the reply. 

' Are you now doing all the good you can 
in your present situation ? ' 

The young man replied in the negative. 

' If you are not,' continued my minister, 
6 how can you expect to do so much more 
good by entering the ministry ? ' 

His gentle reproofs were such as to lead 
but few to doubt they were the words of a 
friend. And in the end he did gain the 
friendship of those whom he had occasion to 
reprove, and who at first thought him severe. 



MY MINISTER. 19 

This beautiful hymn is from the pen of 
my minister, upon the words of Christ — 
* Could ye not watch with me one hour ? ' 

When mortal strength all withering dies, 
And threatening dangers crowd the way, 

Shall reckless slumbers close the eyes ? 
Who will not wake to watch and pray ? 

When fleshly lusts would still control 
The heart, and reign securely there, 

And war against the deathless soul — 
'T is death to cease to watch in prayer, 

When confidences, false and vain, 

Invite, allure, deceive, betray ; 
They only safe in Christ remain, 

Who wake to watch, and watch to pray. 

When worldly friendship, soothing name, 
More deadly proves than worldly hate, 

Or persecution's fiercest flame — 

Who will not watch at mercy's gate ? 

When doubts and fears in darkling waves, 
Rush o'er the soul, and peace is gone, 

Who will not fly to Him that saves ? 
Who will not watch with Christ alone ? 

And when the gates of Zion mourn 

An absent Savior grieved away ; 
Who will not see his glad return ? 

Who will not wake to watch and pray ? 
b2 



20 MY MINISTER. 

Or when he comes with smiles of love, 
And gifts for sinners blind and poor, 

Can heirs of God, bom from above, 
Refuse to watch with him an hour ? 

O'er the brief space of life's career, 
Tempests of trouble darkly lower — 

But Jesus' smile the gloom can cheer ; 
Who will not watch with Christ an hour ? 

Little readers, will not you, one and all, 
c watch and pray r ? It is death, eternal 
death to refuse ; and who of you are pre- 
pared to be banished from the joys of heav- 
en ; to dwell in devouring flames ? 



CHAPTER Y. 

I shall never forget how kindly my min- 
ister addressed me, as I once asked his 
advice on an important undertaking. His 
inquiries were — 'Have you considered it 
well ? Do you think that, in this way, you 
can better promote the interests of Christ's 
kingdom ? Do you feel willing to sacrifice 



MY MINISTER, 21 

every thing, if so be ; you can be instru- 
mental of doing good ? ' ' You must con- 
sider,' said he, ' that it is a great thing to 
enter into the service of the Lord ; and if 
we are unfaithful we shall but bring deep- 
er anguish upon our souls. 5 And always 
before giving his advice, my minister would 
consider the subject in all its bearings, and 
set before the inquirer the obligations un- 
der which he would place himself, should 
he conclude to enter more immediately in- 
to the vineyard of the Lord. Never was 
one more jealous for the honor of religion 
than he. And he was always the same — 
never losing sight of his divine Master, no 
matter where, or in what circumstances he 
was placed. Who can doubt then, that such 
a man was beloved by the church of Christ 
on earth, and that many hearts bled when 
they heard the unwelcome news that a 
faithful pastor was no more ? 

The following touching stanzas, by my 
minister, were written for a little son, as an 
address to his father at sunrise, on a morn- 



22 MY MINISTER. 

ing in spring. Since its first appearance it 
has been reprinted in some English pub- 
lications. 

Father, awake ! it is not night ; 

The sun is up, the sky is bright, 

The birds have left their leafy nests, 

And joys are struggling from their breasts. 

I cannot sleep : I hear them say, 
6 Morn is the childhood of the day ; 
Be up, for morn in life's career 
Should be as cheerful, bright, and dear. 

' Come forth and breathe the balmy air, 
A thousand sweets are floating there, 
A thousand sounds are mingling wild, 
Come forth with us, fond waking child.' 

Father, awake, and take thy boy 
To hear this matin burst of joy, 
To see the world all bright with dew ; 
Father, I want to go with you. 

You told me, God, though very high, 
Above the sun, above the sky, 
Is praised by creatures here below — 
The birds are praising him, I know. 

And those soft twinkling of the leaves, 
With every moan the ocean heaves, 
Are all to him a grateful song — 
Father, how can you sleep so long ? 



MY MINISTER. 23 

My little hymns, I think would please 
His listening ear, as well as these, 
If you would wake and teach my tongue 
To join the birds in morning song. 

I hear them now among the trees ; 

I hear the humming of the bees — 

It seems as though my heart would break ; 

Father, dear father, do awake ! 



CHAPTER TI. 

Our lives are like the grass which grow- 
eth up in the morning and flourisheth, but 
at night is cut down and withereth. How 
many of us have been in the company of 
the good and the lovely, and prided our- 
selves with their acquaintance, just ere the 
seeds of death were sown ! James B. T — 
possessed an amiable disposition — was be- 
loved by a large circle of friends — and 
gained the confidence of all. When I be- 
came acquainted with him he was just bud- 
ding into manhood — was full of hope — 
and, doubtless, expected to see many years 



24 MY MINISTER. 

of happiness. But He, who doeth all things 
well, cut him down before he had reached 
his eighteenth year. For a number of 
months previous to his death, I was with 
him more or less every week, and had a 
good opportunity to judge of his disposi- 
tion and character. ' I feel unwell,' said 
he to me, towards the close of a day, ' and 
I cannot work any more. I must leave my 
business and go home.' He left, and I saw 
him no more, till clothed in the vestments 
of the tomb. He was confined to his bed 
a little more than a week, and then death 
closed his mortal career. When the sad 
truth reached my ears, that my friend was 
no more, I was so deeply affected, that I 
could not refrain from weeping. His re- 
mains were carried to the meeting house, 
followed by a large number of his associ- 
ates and friends, where the following sol- 
emn and impressive address was pronounc- 
ed by my minister. May it lead the read- 
er to remember his Creator, and desire to 
prepare for that solemn event, which may 



MY MINISTER. 25 

also come upon him while his heart beats 
high with hope. 

There are occasions, when it is difficult 
not to speak, and equally difficult to speak 
to any valuable purpose — occasions that 
seem to invite discourse, and yet at the 
same time silently utter a language of deep 
and solemn emphasis which no discourse 
can reach. On such an occasion we are 
now assembled. iVnd though it is deemed 
improper that I should be silent, it would 
be presumptuous to expect, that any thing 
can be added to the obvious and impres- 
sive considerations which the scene before 
us is suited to address to every mind. 

And what renders this scene one of deep 
and tender interest? — why does it abound 
with instruction fitted to reach and improve 
the heart? Not a heart present is without 
an answer to these interrogatories. There 
lie the sweet relics of a lovely youth! — 
There sleeps the manly form that grew up 
beneath the fond gaze of parental solici- 
tude and affection. In that coffin isrepos- 



26 MY MINISTER. 

ing the faded and decaying image of a 
brother, exquisitely dear to a numerous 
train of sisters and brothers. There, wait- 
ing to be committed to the ' house appoint- 
ed for all the living, 5 is all that could die of 
the youthful associate of not a few of the 
younger class in this assembly. In our way 
from the house of mourning to the narroio 
house, we have stopped for a few moments 
in this house of prayer. Not to make a 
vain show of grief Not to throw open to 
public inspection the sanctuary of private 
sorrows. Not to invite the cold and list- 
less gaze of the unthinking and the unfeel- 
ing. But to mingle our tears and our sym- 
pathies around the mercy seat. We linger 
here for a brief interval, that we may be in- 
structed, impressed, purified, and consoled 
by viewing this scene in the light of the 
sanctuary. And are there any here who 
do not need the benefit of such a view of 
the scene before us? The bleeding hearts 
of this bereaved household need it. We 
who are liable to a similar bereavement, 



MY MINISTER. 27 

need it. This numerous group of youths, 
who have pressed in hither to witness the 
affecting spectacle, need it. Yes, all, all 
need the benefit of contemplating this scene 
as it opens upon the mind, amidst the asso- 
ciations of these hallowed courts. 

Every topic of consolation that the af- 
flicted can need, is among the appropriate 
suggestions of this sacred place. The first 
and principal source of comfort to those 
who are called to mourn the loss of objects 
of endearment, is the consideration of him 
who has been thus severe in his allotments. 
Apart from such consideration, it must in- 
deed, be too painful to dwell on the circum- 
stances of their loss. But here in the house 
of God, we are forbidden to overlook, ei- 
ther the hand or the design of the great 
Lord of all, in resuming blessings which he 
had only lent us. When the light of his 
truth is poured upon his afflictive dispen- 
sations, they appear in a new character, 
and lose their seeming severity in the kind 
and merciful intentions from which they are 



28 MY MINISTER. 

seen to have proceeded. With the chil- 
dren of God, the consideration, that he has 
done it, has a power beyond every thing 
else, to banish every feeling of rising re- 
pugnance to the righteous determination of 
his government, and to yield a feeling of 
quiet and cheerful submission under ago- 
nizing trials. The most delightful exem- 
plification of the force of this single reflec- 
tion, is furnished by saints of Scripture 
history. One silenced his heart, with the 
thought — it is the Lord. Another under a 
stroke that almost consumed him, was dumb, 
and opened not his mouth, because the Lord 
did it. While another, though stript of al! 
outward comforts, blessed the name of Him 
who took away as well as gave. 

Contemplating the scene before us in the 
light of the sanctuary, the afflicted are re- 
minded that the world cannot be their 
home, nor its objects their consolation. — 
This light clearly reveals through the me- 
dium of this funeral scene, that the world 
is falling into ruins, and its most endearing 



MY MINISTER. 29 

objects vanishing away. Nor is this the 
whole of the disclosure it makes. It re- 
veals in connection with this, the cheering 
truth, that God will give to his afflicted 
people in his house on high, a place and a 
name, better than of sons and daughters — 
even enduring mansions and an everlasting 
name that shall never be cut off. 

It is in the house of prayer — the audience 
chamber of the Most High, that his bereav- 
ed and desolate children are able to send 
their views forward into the far distant fu- 
ture, to behold ' the end of the Lord, that 
the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mer- 
cy.' That all this severity of discipline is 
connected with, and preparing the way for 
an 'eternal weight of glory.' That these 
painful disruptions of earthly ties, are only 
indispensable prerequisites to their ow T n ap- 
proaching ascension to the holy fellowship 
of saints in glory. That these heavy strokes 
are all necessary to break the chains and 
enchantments of earth, and to bring their 
souls to their only proper rest. With such 



30 MY MINISTER. 

discoveries of the cause and tendency of 
afflictions, they may well exclaim — 

Those we call wretched are a chosen band. 

Amid our list of blessings infinite, 

Stands this the foremost — that our hearts have bled. 

For all we bless thee — most for the severe. 

His death, our own at hand. 

And yet it is no common or easy attain- 
ment, to discern the goodness that mingles 
with the severity of the divine allotments. 
The mercy which comes to believers thus 
connected with judgment is rarely perceiv- 
ed in its first approach. O, it is hard to 
see, and much more difficult to feel, that it 
is mercy that comes and tears us up by the 
roots — cuts asunder the tenderest ties of 
the sweetest union — lops off the most 
promising branches — blasts the loveliest 
buds. But in the strong light of the house 
of prayer, and ' fast by the oracle of God, 5 
his goodness is soon revealed to his bruised 
and chastened people. For, ' every branch 
that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it 
may bring forth more fruit. But though 
the Lord cause grief, yet will he have com- 



MY MINISTER. 31 

passion according to the multitude of his 
mercies. For he doth not afflict willingly, 
nor grieve the children of men — to crush 
under his feet all the prisoners of the earth. 
I know, O Lord, that thy judgments are 
right, and that thou in faithfulness hast af- 
flicted me.' While the word and house of 
God are suggesting to the afflicted such a 
variety of consolatory topics, shall they in- 
dulge in immoderate grief? They are not 
denied the luxury of tears, the joy of chas- 
tened grief, the sorrow that rejoices in hope. 
He who fcnovis their frame forbids them not 
to mourn. He admonishes them to beware 
of extreme indifference and overmuch sor- 
rotv. 'My son, despise not thou the chas- 
tening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art 
rebuked of him.' Let them feel, but let 
them not faint. Let them remember their 
loss, but let them not continually keep the 
wound bleeding — let them not perpetuate 
the pangs of the keenest grief by dwelling 
on the thousand tender and heart-rending 
incidents and circumstances that constitut- 



OZ MY MINISTER. 

ed the dying scene. Let them not indulge 
a melancholy that inflicts a forbidden self- 
torture. Instead of suffering busy thoughts 
to pry into the secret things of God — to pen- 
etrate the deep abyss they are forbidden to 
explore, let them imitate the bereaved and 
afflicted Psalmist. ' While the child was 
yet alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, who 
can tell whether God will be gracious to 
me, that the child may live ; but now he is 
dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring 
him back again ? I shall go to him, but he 
shall not return to me.' 

But it is not so much my object to sug- 
gest consolatory themes — to repeat what 
should be their songs in the night to those 
who are suffering beneath the present 
weight of calamitous visitations, as to lead 
such as are obnoxious to similar bereave- 
ments profitably to contemplate this scene 
of mourning. It is ever suited to do us 
good to come up to the house of the Lord, 
and to stand within the gates of his earthly 
sanctuaries. His name is registered here. 



1 



MY MINISTER. - 33 

Here he meets his people. He meets us 
here to-day. He comes and speaks to us 
in loud and solemn tones by that stroke of 
his bereaving hand, which has fallen on the 
family of him whom he has placed on this 
portion of Zion's walls. He speaks to pa- 
rents. There is not a parent here, to whom 
he does not say by this painful visitation, 
' prepare to resign into my hands your son 
or your daughter. 5 Come, then, ye fathers 
and mothers, and listen to his words. Come, 
and take a near view of this scene. There 
are no truths silently proclaimed here which 
do not demand attention, and which will 
not bear examination. They are painful 
truths, but yet come and ponder upon them, 
and they will do you good. Be it, that 
they will make you sad. Be it, that they 
will wring your hearts with anticipated 
sorrows. Such sadness — such sorrows are 
salutary. The sorrow thus awakened 'is 
better than laughter, for by the sadness of 
the countenance, the heart is made better. 5 
Come, ye fond parents, and look into this 



34 MY MINISTER. 

coffin, and behold what your children are 
liable to become. They are now in health 
— blooming in youth — and anticipating 
many gay and pleasurable years to come. 
But all of these circumstances could not 
shield that dear youth from the stroke of 
death. His bloom faded away from his 
cheek, his strength withered, and his sun 
went down long before it was yet noon. 
He had parents that loved, and prayed, and 
wept over him ; and brothers and sisters 
that clung to him with the strong embrace 
of the sincerest affection. But all could 
not detain him longer here. O, think not 
then, that you can be exempted from like 
bereavements. And are you ready to part 
with these dear ones? Can you bear to 
have these branches torn off? Ah ! and 
are they prepared to meet safely the dread 
event of death ? If not, where are you 
resting ? From what do you extract any 
peace that allows your eyes to close in 
nightly slumbers, while your children are 
in danger of sleeping in endless death ? 



MY MINISTER. 35 

Have you been so fervent, and earnest, and 
persevering in your prayers for them, so 
faithful and conscientious in your instruc- 
tion and discipline of them, and so consis- 
tent and exemplary in your deportment be- 
fore them, that you can leave them with 
quiet confidence in the hand of sovereign 
Mercy, and feel that if they perish, you are 
innocent of their blood ? I pity the parent 
that dares to say this. Let all those who 
are entrusted with the education of the 
children whom God has given to them, de- 
rive from this scene new motives to fidelity 
in the discharge of parental duties. The 
time is short. Your children will either 
take their departure from you in the morn- 
ing, or you will be called away from them 
before the evening shades begin to fall. 
What you do, you must do quickly. These 
days that are now passing away, have an 
unspeakable importance. How valuable 
they are, those can tell you who are called 
to mourn the loss of children dying with- 
out hope. Stand by that coffin, then, all 
c2 



36 MY MINISTER. 

ye parents who are more concerned for the 
bodies than for the souls of your offspring, 
and tell me what would be your feelings, 
were some of your own sons, or daughters 
sleeping there all clad for the grave ! 

The occasion is one that should be im- 
proved by those present who are sustaining 
the relation of brothers and sisters, dwelling 
together in various domestic circles. What 
a lesson are they here taught '? How soon 
— how inevitably must these circles be in- 
vaded by the messenger of death. How 
certain it is, that the tenderest ties of earth- 
ly brotherhood must be severed! They 
who are pained by even a momentary sep- 
aration from any one of their family train, 
must shortly be called to suffer a long and 
lasting separation from them all. The most 
affectionate band that experiences 4 how 
good and how pleasant it is for brethren' 
of the same family ' to dwell together in 
unity,' will soon be scattered; and one and 
another of them will be called to join the 
great congregation of the dead. There is 



MY MINISTER. 37 

a family, where a single brother is the cen- 
ter of the warmest affections, and the stay 
and prop of their earthly hopes. But that 
brother must leave them. It will not be 
long before those who now view such an 
event as entirely insupportable, will find 
that it has come upon them with its crush- 
ing power — its desolating violence. What 
is before us now is a faint image of it. — 
How, then, should the members of these 
sacred bands of brothers and sisters seek, 
by every means in their power, to be ready 
for the calamitous visitation. With what 
kindness and affection should they con- 
stantly treat each other ; that the approach- 
ing pangs of separation may not borrow 
additional elements of bitterness from re- 
collected unkindness to the departed. O, 
how should they strive above all, to be so 
lovely and pleasant in their lives, that in 
their death they may not be divided. Your 
brothers and your sisters must one after 
another leave you, and take up their abode 
in eternity ; or you yourselves must leave 



38 MY MINISTER. 

them and be first ushered into the scenes 
of endless retribution. Will you not so 
live together the little interval allotted you 
here, as mutually to contribute to each oth- 
ers meetness for immortal life hereafter — 
that you may be brothers and sisters in glo- 
ry everlasting ? 

But the class who are especially address- 
ed in this afflictive dispensation, are yet to 
be noticed. It speaks loudly and solemn- 
ly to us all, but its language is pre-eminent- 
ly impressive and monitory to the young. 
One of their number, who a few days since 
was vigorous and glowing in health, is de- 
parted from the scenes of time. His wast- 
ed and faded form lies before us. O, that 
I could give utterance to the silent lan- 
guage which these beloved remains address 
to the youth present. O, that some angel 
spirit would come and whisper to each 
youthful heart ; the solemn lessons here so 
impressively taught. But vain would be 
all such agencies. Rather would I seek 
the presence of the Holy Spirit, to apply 



MY MINISTER. 39 

to these young minds the truths which this 
mournful spectacle reveals in the light of 
the sanctuary ! Come, then, my dear young 
friends, and amidst the tender and subdu- 
ing associations of the place and the occa- 
sion, do not regard it too solemn and pain- 
ful a task to think. It is a solemn thing to 
live, and especially is it a solemn thing to 
die. Will you live and die without seri- 
ously thinking on your ways — without anx- 
iously pondering on the opening scenes of 
eternal retribution ? Could you be induc- 
ed to think, this occasion would not be lost 
to you. But you are averse to serious med- 
itation on the great topics, which here, this 
afternoon, invite attention. Scarcely is 
there one of you, it is to be feared, w 7 ho 
possesses a recollected mind — a mind that 
thinks to any valuable purpose. Where is 
the youth in all this assembly, who is dis- 
posed soberly to ask himself, what end he is 
approaching — what destiny awaits him — 
what will become of him when he dies. 
It is the great plan of the destroyer of souls 



40 MY MINISTER. 

to keep you from thinking on these points. 
Your hearts second his temptations. God 
says, that it is better to go .to the house of 
mourning, than to go to the house of feast- 
ing ; but the adversary and your own hearts 
reverse this truth. It is better, because it 
presents objects eminently fitted to lead 
the mind to thoughtfulness. For this very 
reason, it is irksome to you. It is hard for 
you to think, when the act must lead to the 
most appaling discoveries. But what are 
these discoveries from which you recoil, 
and to avoid which you will not indulge 
the train of thought which the house of 
mourning suggests ? They are such as 
cannot be ultimately avoided. They are 
such as must be made in time or in eterni- 
ty — either while they may prove of infi- 
nite service to you, or after they will prove 
forever the cause of sorrow and unavailing 
lamentation ! Come, then, and be no lon- 
ger thoughtless. Turn your thoughts to 
the case of our dear young departed friend. 
See in him the end of promising youth. — 



MY MINISTER. 41 

See here that there is but a step between 
youth and the grave. Learn from this prov- 
idence, that the only season granted to 
great numbers to prepare for eternity, is 
the short period of youthful days. Be 
taught by this scene, that it is perilous in 
the extreme to calculate on coming years 
of probation, or on the painful interval of a 
death-bed sickness to make your peace with 
God. O, my dear young friends, withdraw 
not your minds from this instructive occa- 
sion. Engrave the scene on your hearts. 
Let nothing obliterate it from your minds. 
Let no delusive promised pleasure take your 
thoughts away. Let no scenes of amuse- 
ment engross your thoughts or have any hold 
on your hearts. 'The heart of the wise is 
in the house of mourning, but the heart of 
fools is in the house of mirth.' 

I have had sufficient experience to teach 
me how painful it is to speak plainly and 
solemnly to the young and the gay. And 
what if they will not hear r What if God 
speaks by his providence as in a voice of 



42 MY MINISTER. 

thunder, and still they will not hear? Shall 
we change our testimony ? Shall we say 
to them that their chosen way is not the 
way of death ? Shall we tell them that the 
house of mirth will end as safely as the 
house of mourning, of penitence, of faith 
and of prayer? I cannot say this. Rather 
must I declare, though they will not think 

— will not consider — will not turn their 
feet unto the testimonies of God, ' Thus 
saith the Lord, Rejoice, O young man, in 
thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in 
the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways 
of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes 

— but know thou, that for all these things 
God will bring thee into judgment.' 



CHAPTER VII. 



The following will show how deep an 
interest my minister felt in children. Hav- 
ing boarded with a gentleman who had a 



MY MINISTER. 43 

little son, and expecting to leave early the 
next morning, he inquired for the child. 
Being informed that he was in bed, my 
minister went into his room and wrote the 
following, which he handed to the little 
boy's father, with the request that he would 
give it to his son the next day. 

Verses for Master William-Charles. 

Little William could'st thou know 
All the trials here below ; 
Could'st thou see but half the truth, 
How 't would spoil the joys of youth ! 
Ah ! and could 7, could I bear, 
That thy bright and silken hair, 
Age must change — thy pretty face 
Lose its roseate hue and grace ; 
Could I think to live and see 
m William lose his infant glee — 
See those eyes in coming years, 
Fixed in grief — dissolved with tears — 
See that breast of purest snow 
Torn with anguish — pierced with woe — 
All that form of loveliest mould, 
Clasped in death, and pale, and cold! 
Ah, no ! And yet it may be true, 
And I, mayhap, shall be like you, 
And both, perhaps, shall soon be laid 
Beneath the lonely yew-tree shade I 



44 MY MINISTER. 

Then, William- Charles, in youthful mirth, 
Forget not Him, who while on earth, 
Pressed infant children to his breast, 
And called them heirs of heavenly rest. 
Forget not Him — though soon you may 
The friend, who ere he went away, 
Left these few simple lines to tell — 
Little William' Chaises — farewell ! 

The following letters were addressed to 
a little daughter, when absent with her 
mother from home. How touchingly sim- 
ple — how natural — how beautiful they 
are ! 

To my Dear Little Daughter Amelia. 
Dearest ! hear, thy father sings, 

Alone, and sad, and weeping too ; 
But had he now a pair of wings, 

He would not, could not either do. 
He 5 d fly to thee, and on thy cheek 

Would haste to wipe the tear from his, 
Would utter more than words can speak 

In one sweet, burning, silent kiss. 
Dost thou forget thy father's look, 

Thy father's voice, thy father's care ? 
Dost thou forget how oft he took, 

And rocked thee in his study-chair ? 
Canst thou forget in such brief space, 

All that seemed once to thee so dear ? 



MY MINISTER. 45 

And must thy father bring the face 
Of stranger for his child to fear ? 

Ah ! dearest, no ! thou 'It not forget 
Thy father, when he comes to thee, 

But with thy kisses thou wilt wet 

His cheek — so glad thy heart will be. 

And if I never see thee more, 

Until we meet beyond the sky, 
May father, mother, on that shore 

Unite in life that cannot die. 

To my Dear Daughter, A. L. J. 

Dear little daughter, weak indeed 

Would be my words, if thou could'st read, 

To show so fully, thou could'st see 

The love thy father feels for thee ; 

But now, whate'er I say or sing, 

Is all to thee a senseless thing ; 

Thine eye may gaze upon this line. 

Nor yet discern a single sign 

Of all the tender thoughts that rise 

To burst my heart and melt my eyes. 

'T was sad ofttimes, when thou wast here, 

To see thy grief-awakened tear, 

To hear those cries which told so plain, 

That thou wast naughty or in pain : 

But not so sad, as here alone, 

To see and feel that thou art gone — 

To have the morning ope the day, 

Without thy morning smiles and play — 



46 MY MINISTER. 

To have the day complete his flight, 
And still to find thee gone at night — 
To feel when nature leads to rest, 
No darling slumbering on my breast — 
To find when my fond steps would stray 
Along the hall to see thee play, 
And with thy image soothe my care, 
Thy own half speaking empty chair, 
To find, sad relics of thy joys, 
Thy casket filled with silent toys — 
To find that silence's self can say, 
My love and loveling are away. 
But, daughter, I am not alone ; 
There is a God, there is a throne 
Of mercy, with the contrite breast, 
God on that throne will deign to rest. 
Silence and solitude are sweet, 
If God the praying spirit meet, 
And in communion calm and high, 
Bears it away beyond the sky. 
O, early may you breathe the prayer, 
And early all the blessings share, 

Of those who walk with God. 
This is the prayer my heart shall pour, 
Till at life's trying, closing hour, 

I lay aside its load. 



MY MINISTER. 47 



CHAPTER VIII. 

My minister always took a peculiar in- 
terest in the welfare of young men — es- 
pecially in those who belonged to his own 
congregation. Many and many a time has 
he addressed them not only on the impor- 
tance of early devoting themselves to the 
cause of religion, but on the best means of 
promoting their temporal welfare, by se- 
curing the confidence of all those with 
whom they had intercourse. Truly in his 
death the young lost a friend that cannot 
be easily found. And every thing from his 
pen cannot but be interesting to all, and, 
though dead, he may speak in his writings, 
and many may yet take heed to their ways, 
who once refused to obey, when warned 
and entreated with all tenderness and af- 
fection. 



48 MY MINISTER. 

The following lines are supposed to be 
from the pen of my minister, as they were 
found written on the blank leaves of a vol- 
ume of Osander's Poems, once belonging 
to his library. Scarcely any one will doubt 
they are his who knew the man. He can 
be read in almost every stanza. 

There is a joy, a meteor blaze, 

That flashes through the gloom 
Which shrouds the sinners dubious ways, 

That hurry on his doom. 

But this upon that solemn shore, 

Where life and death begin, 
Will feast his dying soul no more 

With pleasurable sin. 

There it will light that ceaseless fire 

Of woe and tort'ring pain, 
Those flames that never can expire, 

While God and justice reign. 

But there 's a joy, a pure delight, 

Ineffable, refined — 
A bliss that springs from heavenly light, 

And lasting as the mind. 

O, may my soul ne'er cease to taste 

This pure, celestial joy — 
That pleasure time can never waste, 

Nor death, nor hell destroy. 



MY MINISTER. 49 

-Life 's as a stream that rolls along its flood. 
And mingles with the vast udbounded deep. 
Our passions are the rocks, the direful falls 
That break the peaceful stream, the easy flow. 
Which pure religion gives to mortal life, 
And sends us heedless into worlds unknown. 



CHAPTER IX. 

People in general are very apt to forget 
the injunction of their Savior, 'Let broth- 
erly love continue.' But what appears more 
unlovely in the sight of Heaven, than for 
brethren to disagree — brethren who have 
been redeemed by the same blood, and who 
expect at last to sit together in the heav- 
enly Jerusalem ? Once my minister preach- 
ed from the text just quoted, and as nearly 
as I can recollect, the following is the sub- 
stance of his sermon — and every reader 
must feel the necessity of living peace- 
ably with his neighbor, and thus glorify his 
God and Redeemer. 



50 MY MINISTER. 

1. Brotherly love should continue among 
Christians, because they are members of 
the same family ; all traveling the same 
road; all working to accomplish the same 
end ; all redeemed by the same Savior, 
and all partake in the same enjoyments. 
And it is most singular, that when they are 
united in all other employments, if their 
hearts are not knit together by the same 
love. 

2. Because it is the means of increas- 
ing the supplies of grace to their own 
souls. 

3. Because the Savior, their Lord and 
Master, commands it. A new command- 
ment I give unto you, that ye love one 
another. If no other reason could be found, 
this would certainly be sufficient to induce 
all Christians to love their brethren of all 
denominations. The apostle says, For this 
is the message that ye heard from the be- 
ginning, that ye should love one another. 
We know that we have passed from death 
unto life, because we love the brethren. 



MY MINISTER. 51 

He mentioned two ways by which this 
love should be shewn to each other. 

First. By mingling and communing with 
each other, and praying for each other's 
welfare and success. For, the same reason 
which should prompt us to love the Savior, 
should certainly prompt us to love believ- 
ers who bear his image. 

Second. By bearing one another's bur- 
dens. In passing through the journey of 
life, each Christian has a burden of trials 
and conflicts to surmount. The world, the 
flesh, and the devil, and the wickedness of 
his heart, all require a vigilant and watch- 
ful eye. Some Christians have more expe- 
rience than others, and should, therefore, 
seek out those who are faint and weary, 
and distressed with doubts and fears ; and 
those who are living in secret wickedness ; 
and those who are backsliding ; and warn 
and entreat them* And those who need 
assistance and direction should be encour- 
aged and comforted. 

He concluded, by admonishing sinners 
d2 



52 MY MINISTER. 

to flee to Christ, who would fill their hearts 
with love to him and the souls of men — to 
prepare for a mansion in that holy place 
where all is love. 

The short Poem which follows was writ- 
ten at the close of a year. 

Urged by that Power whose ceaseless sway 

Diffuses universal good, 
Another year has passed away, 

To s join the years beyond the flood. 5 

Commingling with the vast profound 
Of age on age, an endless round, 

I see it dimly disappear ; 
While blank oblivion's raven wing, 
Hovering around me as I sing, 

Bears it away in swift career. 

But ere its traces quite depart, 

That love to linger round the heart, 

While vivid recollection strays 

Over the flight of former days ; 

Ere yet the bosom cease to glow 

At recollected joy or woe, 

Or memory's power forgets to scan 

The weal or woe of suffering man, 

The muse would weave with many a tear, 

A requiem for the finished year ; 

And to its varied memoir swell, 

A broken, pensive, sad Farewell. 



MY MINISTER. 53 

Farewell, ye hours, forever flown, 
That on your wings devotion bore ; 

Farewell, though lately called my own — 
For mine ye never can be more. 

And ye delightful hours, adieu, 

To friendship's sacred pleasures dear, 

Though swift your winged moments flew. 
Remembrance wakes the rising tear. 

And farewell, too, ye mournful hours 
Of sad, desponding, heart-felt grief — 

Which heard the plaint the bosom pours 
To Him who only gives relief. 

And must I sigh farewell to you, 

Ye seasons lost, or spent in vain ? 
Yes, ye are gone, and farewell too, 

Ye melancholy, gloomy train. 

Go, and with your story, tell 

The pangs your recollection brings — 

And bear to heaven the sad farewell 
A penitential bosom sings. 

But to the now departed year, 

That witnessed in its circling sphere, 

The woes which mortal bosoms swell ; 
That saw around this nether scene, 
What nameless pangs and ills have been. 

Let altered numbers breathe farewell. 
For on that dark and sombre page 
Which tells the tale of every age — 

An awful record of the past ; 



54 MY MINISTER. 

I see, bedewed with sorrow's tears. 

Near the sad themes of other years, 

The mournful story of the last. 

I see what multitudes have died 
By fell disease, ambition, pride ; 

And oh ! I hear, or seem to hear 
Their hollow groans and piercing cries, 
The deep toned notes of agonies, 

Sad dirges to the finished year. 

There too, I see 'midst lingering night, 
Some spots made fair by gospel light ; 

As reigns its holy, peaceful laws, 
Man learns to learn not war's bad skill, 
And fears to fear not man to kill, 

And dares to dare not Heaven oppose. 

Far spent is night. God's word unbound, 
A path-way through the world has found ; 

And nameless tribes in their own tongue, 
Now hear that most mysterious deed, 
How Jesus, Savior deigned to bleed, 

As erst the holy prophets sung. 

E'en lisping infants teach its page 
To graceless, sin-besotted age — 

Children teach multitude of days ; 
They rise up blessed — are blessings given ; 
The born of God ; the heirs of heaven ; 

A generation to his praise. 

Long time did talents, learning shine, 
In splendid efforts, half divine, 



MY MINISTER. 55 

To dazzle and mislead the crowd, 
Who wending through this life's dark road 5 
Felt safe in paths the lofty trcde, 

Until they sunk in ruin's shroud. 
Now 'tis not thus. Behold abroad, 
Genius is consecrate to God ; 

And many, like that gifted youth, 
Who sung time finish'd, earth no mere. 
However high their pinions soar, 

Give all their powers to God and truth. 
And yet a brighter scene appears — 
Perspective through approaching years, 

I see the Sun of Righteousness, 
With healing in his beams ascend, 
And far as sin and guilt extend, 

Diffuse his quietening power to bless. 
When that day dawns, where will be 
Each Souvenir, €t ceterae, 

The great unknowings said or sung ? 
All seen, remembered, and forgot, 
Like dreams that were, and yet were not. 

Or bubbles bright from bathos flung. 
And where those works of folio page, 
With ' form and pressure ' of an age, 

Reluctant to Immanuel's laws? 
Not needed more, they lie beside 
Dread Lethe's dark and sluggish tide, 

With rubbish of the world that was. 
Then, farewell year, already gone, 
And haste the destined period on ? 



56 MY MINISTER. 

That brings Millennial day ; 
When truth, and righteousness, and peace, 
Shall spread, and reign, and still increase, 

As circling years decay. 

Thus have I sung as best beseemed 
One all unskilled the lyre to sweep ; 

Who ne'er by Mincio's waters dreamed. 
Or climbed Parnassus' awful steep. 

Yet proudest strains please not His ear, 
Whose praise the cherub voices swell ; 

And he may bend e'en that to hear, 
Which sighs to finished time, farewell 



CHAPTER X. 

Never was a man more humble than my 
minister; and it is seldom that we find a 
pastor who labors so assiduously to pull 
down the haughty feelings of man, as he 
did, not only in his sermons, but also in his 
private interviews with the people of his 
charge. I remember calling at his house 
one day, accompanied by two other mem- 
bers of his church, for some special busi- 



MY MINISTER. 5? 

ness, when he requested that each of us 
would write our opinions of humility, and 
bring what Scripture texts we could obtain, 
in proof of our remarks, and hand them to 
him for examination on an appointed even- 
ing. He requested this, no doubt, that we 
might endeavor to obtain more of this bless- 
ed trait of Christian character, and never 
think more highly of ourselves than we 
ought to think. 6 These bodies now so 
healthy,' said he, s so nerved with strength, 
so comely and beautiful, are nothing but 
organized dust ; nothing but feeble clav. 
And who can be proud of clay? Who can 
boast of dust? Yes, these bodies of ours, 
which are so pampered, and nourished, will 
soon become Joodfor worms. What a hu- 
miliating consideration! And yet we nour- 
ish and look after them, as if they w T ere 
made the sole object of our lives ! The 
great God, who made us, and whose are 
all our ways, is almost forgotten ! Strange 
pride !' 

At another time I recollect of his saying, 



58 MY MINISTER. 

that we should be humble on account of 
our inability to comprehend clearly, the 
great truths of revelation ; and also our nar- 
row conceptions of God and his holiness 
should induce us to be humble. 'The hu- 
man mind is so contracted in its knowledge, 
so confined in its limits, that it sees but an 
inch of space around it; and that inch is so 
clothed in uncertainty and doubt, that it is 
almost involved in a labyrinth of darkness, 
from which it cannot extricate itself. It is 
so feeble in its powers, that it cannot see 
anything of the trials which await it in life. 
Yet how prone are people generally to 
boast of the powers of intellect; the won- 
derful expansion of the human mind ; and 
yet all this vast machinery, without the aid 
of revelation, totters and shakes at the so- 
lution of the question, What is the state of 
the soul at death ? It is lost in a labyrinth 
of wonder and doubt. But yet men do of- 
ten forget the giver, and boast of the mind, 
as if it were an object of their own forma- 
tion.' 



MY MINISTER. 59 

Again, he said, ' The sin and guilt of men 
is an inducement for humility. This is the 
cause of all the sufferings of the human 
race. It was this which brought 

Death into our world and all our woe ! 

It was this which drove our first parents out 
of Eden. It was this which brought the 
Savior, the Son of God, into the world, to 
bear the shame, reproach, contumely, con- 
tempt, and neglect which he received. It 
was this, which caused him, in the garden 
of Gethsemane, under the weight of sorrow 
he bore, to sweat great drops of blood ; to 
cry out under the hidings of his Father's 
face, ' My God ! my God ! why hast thou 
forsaken me !' It was this which led him 
to Calvary, there to be crucified for sinners. 
It is this vv'hieh h as caused the continued 
rejection of that Savior, ever since his as- 
cention to heaven. It is pride that rejects 
him, that rejects this way of salvation. It is 
too abasing for the natural heart. It wants 
a way in which itself can do the whole; or 
if not the whole, it wants a share. To come 



60 MY MINISTER. 

like a beggar, and plead the merits of 
another, as a reason, why God can have 
mercy upon him, is too humiliating ; and, 
therefore, the hostility to the peculiar doc- 
trines of the gospel is great indeed. The 
prisoner might be proud of his prison house ; 
the condemned malefactor of his chains anil 
gallows ; the beggar of his rags ; but let 
not man, a worm of the dust, be proud of 
that dust. Let him not be proud of his. 
knowledge or refinements, while all his 
boasted acquisitions in the scale of knowl- 
edge, extend only anJnch before him. Let 
him, not be proud when he is bound to the 
earth in chains of filth, and iniquity, which,, 
ere long, may send him to the chambers of 
despair.' 



CHAPTER XI. 



How fondly memory lingers around those 
scenes in which a beloved friend took part, 
who is now ascended to glory. We love 



MY MINISTER. GI 

to contemplate his character, and remem- 
ber every kind word he spoke — especially 
when that friend was anxious for our spir- 
itual well being. Such a friend had I m 
my minister. It was a painful duty for him 
to speak reprovingly — but, nevertheless, 
he did ft, when he conceived it to be ne- 
cessary. e Is there not some secret sin,' 
said he, ' which you have not put away, and 
which keeps from you those spiritual en- 
joyments, vfhich are the life of a Christian? 
If there be any sin unrepented of it must 
be relinquished immediately, if you wish to 
enjoy the divine favor.' Blessed man ! — 
how kindly he spoke ! — how tenderly re- 
proving he was ! That I should cease to 
cherish his memory is impossible. He shall 
be had in everlasting remembrance. And 
when I am called to lie down in death, I 
hope to be united to liim in those bonds 
which can never be sundered — in those 
ties which are as lasting as the eternity of 
Jehovah. Who will not esteem it an hon- 
or to be faithful to his Redeemer, and be 



bZ MY MINISTER. 

always ready to speak a word in season, 
when a friend is nigh slipping into the mire 
of sin ? 

The following beautiful lines were writ- 
ten by my minister, on viewing a ringlet 
from the hair of his deceased wife. 

Ah ! silent relic ! Yet it has a tongue 
To speak to my sad heart. It tells a tale 
Of sorrow so endeared — so cherished too, 
That 1 must love e'en its memorial, 
Which deigns to come at this still evening hour, 
Not to disturb, but soothe my loneliness. • 
Where now that youthful form so dear, o'er which 
These ringlets ofttimes flowed, and where the hand, 
Employed to range them into tresses fit ? 
The cheek that glowed beneath — the heaving breast — 
The deep carnation of the speaking lips — 
The eyes whence living mildness ever beamed ? 
Long pining, fading long, together all 
Have sunk ! And now far off beyond my walks* 
Beneath a grassy mound by strangers trod, 
That form is cold. The hand and heaving breast 
Are still. Paleness has settled on her cheeks. 
Those lips of rosy tinge are mute. And quenched 
Is all the beaming sweetness of her eyes ! 
Yet unextinguished still a spark remains — 
A better part than the cold, sullen grave 
Has taken to its rest. True loveliness 
Corruption cannot reach. The darkling worm 



MY MINISTER. 63 

Winds not its way where moral beauty dwells. 

' The pure in heart ' but triumph when they die — 

Leave the stern Monarch of the grave subdued ; 

The king of terrors vanquished on his throne. 

Thus my Mary died — thus she lives. No more 

Along the shadowy vale of death to walk ; 

To feel no more her earthly frame dissolve, 

Or that last pang which language never told. 

And while her frame, slow mouldering into dust, 

In rural solitude unbroken, sleeps ; 

The soul — all that loved, or most lovely seemed — 

All that once did kindle in her features — 

Looked from her eyes — brought to her snow-white cheek 

The unwonted rose ; or the deep-felt sigh 

From her calm breast — lives in a higher sphere, 

Clothed with unearthly beauty, loved of God,. 

And from the river of his pleasure, drinks 

Immortal joys. Redeemed myriads, 

Who have reached the shining courts of heaven, 

And joined its everlasting melodies, 

Are her companions in this high sojourn ! 

While I, 
Lone wanderer here below, and weeping oft 
O'er blasted hopes, scarce venture once 
( Within the veil ', ' but soothe my grief as now 
With some mute relic of the loss I mourn. 

No longer is my minister a \ lone wan- 
derer here below,' but he is united not on- 
ly to her he loved, but to an innumerable 



64 MY MINISTER. 

company of angels, and to his Savior and 
Redeemer, in whose cause he wasted away 
his useful life. No longer will he be seen 
< weeping oft' over 'blasted hopes,' nor 
mourning over those who still resist the 
gentle influences of the Spirit of God. — 
From all the ills that flesh is heir to, he is 
forever free. 



CHAPTER XII. 

A great while ago, my minister preached 
a sermon from these words, ' For he knovv- 
eth not that which shall be : for who can 
tell him when it shall be ?' It interested 
me very much ; the more so, as it was pro- 
nounced in a solemn and affecting manner. 
I have frequently thought of the sermon, 
and now, while the devoted author is at 
rest from his labors, I will present to my 
readers a desultory sketch of it, with the 
hope that they may be interested and prof- 
ited by it. 



MY MINISTER. 65 

The uncertainty of the events of the fu- 
ture being, apparent to all, was the intro- 
duction to the discourse. It was divided 
into a number ot heads. The first was — 

JVo man lias power to tell of the events of 
the future. Human sagacity and prudence, 
may indeed tell or predict with pretty ex- 
act certainty, that, if certain courses of life 
are followed, certain inherent causes will 
ensue. As for instance, a dissolute, gam- 
bling youth may be pretty certain to die 
an outcast, or a beggar, or suffer for crimes 
committed in consequence of giving loose 
to his passions. But no man can tell when 
his day of death will take place. Although 
just before him; although he must pass 
through it ; and although it is absolutely 
certain, that it must be his lot, yet he can- 
not tell when it shall be. A set time may 
be given, in which he may predict with 
great certainty, that it will take place ; yet 
he cannot put, as it w r ere, his finger on a 
given point, when time will be exchanged 
for a boundless eternity, and gross materi- 

E 



66 MY MINISTER. 

ality be swallowed up in an endless life of 
pure spirituality. The next moment, or 
the next year may be his last ; or he may 
be destined to pass through a long life of 
sorrow and pain ; or he may have his path 
strewed with flowers, and the sunshine of 
prosperity dart upon him. His ashes may 
sleep in the family tomb, or the last sad of- 
fice of respect may be paid by the hand of 
strangers ; or they may be blown by the 
winds of heaven,- or lie buried in the cham- 
bers of the great deep. It is all uncertain^- 
ty to him; but that he will die he is assured. 
2.. When and where he shall die he knows 
not. Here were mentioned instances of in- 
dividuals who had died in foreign lands. 
Henry Martyn, Fisk, and Parsons, the la- 
mented Worcester and Hale, all died in 
lands, and in circumstances, which in their 
youth, perhaps, never once employed a 
thought of their capacious minds. Little 
did that devoted, Christian female, Harriet 
Newall, imagine that the Isle of France 
would entomb her body; that from a por- 



MY MINISTER, 67 

lion of the world, so separate from home, 
her spirit would ascend to her Maker. 

3.. That although the future was wrap- 
ped up in the gloom of uncertainty, yet 
man was certain that events would ensue 
altogether foreign to his mind. While con- 
templating the future, the thoughts might 
revel in prospects of future good, or might 
be blasted by forebodings of future evil. 

4. Although men do not, cannot tell the 
time of their dissolution, yet they do know 
that two things of infinite moment will take 
place, viz. 

1st. All must die. Though years may 
elapse in the lives of all, yet all will die. 
The drooping flower may yet shed its fra- 
grance around, while that in full bloom 
may be nipped. The old man, almost gone 
under the pressure of disease, may be spar- 
ed yet longer, while the youth may be cut 
down in a moment. 

2nd. That all will stand before the judg- 
ment seat of Christ, is also absolutely certain,. 
Yes, all this congregation will stand before 
e2 



68 MY MINISTER. 

that bar, and receive a sentence m accord- 
ance with the manner in which they have 
spent their lives. 

And here I cannot help reminding my 
readers with what feeling and solemnity^ 
the good man addressed the people of his 
charge. Methinks if they had been there, 
they could never lose the remembrance of 
that solemn hour. 

Every word, every thought, every feel- 
ing, continued he, will be judged, and the 
sentence pronounced will be according to 
each one's advantages and knowledge. — 
With the assembled universe we shall stand ; 
and, oh ! dreadful moment ! the sentence 
will issue from the lips of Him, from whose 
face the heavens and the earth flee away, 
which shall convey us to the abodes of bliss, 
to spend the ages of eternity, ingoing from 
glory to glory, and in singing halleluiah to 
Him who has redeemed us by his blood ; 
or — to spend our ceaseless existence in 
the abodes of despair, where the oceans of 



MY MINISTER. 69 

the wrath of God and the Lamb will roll 
over us forever and ever ! 

He concluded by a few practical remarks 
to those who were unprepared to meet the 
realities of that awful day. He warned 
them of the guilt of those who know their 
duty and do not perform it ; who know that 
that day will come, and yet do not prepare 
for it : and with these words finished the 
discourse, Prepare to meet your God in 
peace. 

Dear reader, you know what your duty to 
God yoar Maker is ; but have you perform- 
ed that duty ? Has it been your desire to do 
that which He will approve, and for which 
he will reward you, in the day when he shall 
judge the nations at his bar? If not, imme- 
diately commence a life of devotedness to 
God, and prepare, oh! daily prepare to 
meet your Judge. 

The following was written on the pas- 
sage, i Return, O Lord, how long ? ' 

Grief has its language. Earth-born human woe 
Through burning words, speaks out its strong emotions. 



70 Mf MINISTER. 

Thus speech has caught the power to call forth tears ; 

And many weep o'er woes that never were ; 

While hidden, deep, and spirit withering grief 

Is never told. Words are too feeble things 

For such a task. The heart that God has touched, 

And broke, and blessed, and left, knows such a grief. 

It is not earthly sorrow — that works death, 

And dying breath can give it utterance : 

But this is death upon a deathless soul, 

That erst at the pure fount of life did drink, 

And yet shall drink again. This death works life — 

Kills but to give more life — casts down to raise — 

Exhausts to fill from fulness infinite. 

Who feels this death then, shall not feel it long ; 

For feeling winged upon the breath of prayer, 

Shall life bring down. Who sees this reigning death, 

If vision touches the heart's trembling strings, 

Shall not see it long. O'er the vale of death, 

The breath of prayer shall bring the breath of life. 

The pang untold shall cease amid the cry 

Of blended hearts, Return, O Lord, how long ? 



CHAPTER XIII. 



In speaking of the words of Christy 
' Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is 
the kingdom of heaven,' my minister said. 



MY MINISTER. 71 

* If Christ had opened his mouth and said, 
Blessed are the high-minded, the wealthy, 
the proud, the grand, and the powerful, he 
would, probably, have said something more 
congenial to the feelings of the mass of 
those who were listening to the gracious 
words, that proceeded out of his mouth. 
But when he began to say. Blessed are the 
poor in spirit, the idea carried with it some- 
thing mean and low ; something so para- 
doxical, that, no doubt, he appeared in the 
eyes of many as a madman. One of the 
greatest sceptics of the last century, the 
distinguished Hume, characterized this hu- 
mility, this poverty of spirit, which the Sa- 
vior has blessed, as low, contemptible and 
degraded.' 

Children, will not you endeavor to obtain 
this precious humility, which is so necessa- 
ry to secure to your souls an acceptance 
with God ? What if infidels, and deists, and 
the great men of this world, look upon it 
with contempt, and ridicule it, remember 
it is of great price with him, who is to be 



7~ MY MINISTER. 

your final Judge. Nothing will so well 
recommend you in the eyes of an enlight- 
ened and Christian community, as this. — 
Surely, then, he who is poor in spirit, pos- 
sesses that which is above all computation 
in this world, and which, in eternity, will 
secure to him unfading joys. O, who will 
not strive to be of a humble disposition ? 

A young minister and his family, sailed 
from Portland, a short time previous to a 
violent storm. He had a great many friends 
and connections here, who were quite 
alarmed, fearing they would be overtaken 
by the storm and perish. But they arrived 
safey to their destined port. The day after 
their departure, my minister wrote the foi- 



Hoarse and dreadful roar the night winds, 
Clouds convolved the heavens deform ;. 

But the Lord amid dark whirlwinds* 
Rides in mercy on the storm. 

Louder howls the storm careering. 
Fierce conflicting tempests beat : 

But the angry clouds are cheering. 
Mingling round Jehovah's feet. 



MY MINISTER. 73 

Though deep horror frowns around me, 

Mid the elemental strife, 
Mercy's wings are hovering round me, 

Bearing peace, preserving life. 

Yet an anxious heart must cherish 

Feeling for the suffering poor, 
Yet must bleed for those that perish ? 

Silent mid the wintry roar. 

It must feel a kind emotion, 

Angel pity's generous glow, 
For the sufferers on the ocean, 

While the warring tempests blow. 

Ah ! and it must sadness borrow 

From the thrilling thoughts which rise, i 

That friends beloved now brave the horror 
Of the tempest breathing skies. 

Yet, be soothed my heart's keen anguish, 

God can his own part perform ; 
At his word the fierce winds languish — 

Cease the howlings of the storm. 

He who guides unseen, the courses 

Of the tempests through the sky, 
He who gives the winds their forces. 

Hears his suffering children cry. 

He. Most High, whose angry features 

Fill the universe with dread, 
Feels compassion for his creatures — 

Saves the dyino' and the dead, 



74 MY MINISTER. 

Yet, though night winds shake creation. 
Though commingled torrents pour, 

There is mercy and salvation 
With the Lord forevermore ! 



CHAPTER XIY. 

A. short time before this good man died, 
he said he should like to have an opportu- 
nity of conversing with every member of 
his church. He wished to ascertain what 
were their feelings in regard to the out- 
pouring of the Spirit of God. He felt the 
necessity of having the heart continually in 
a praying frame, and of its being humbled 
at the feet of Jesus. 

My minister thought much of his Re- 
deemer, and was always ready to speak of 
his character to the perishing around him. 
And what a lesson is this for us to learn, 
who have been so slow in the performance 
of our Master's will ! 

The following touching stanzas were 



MY MINISTER; i 3 

written on the anniversary of the death of 
a very clear friend — that day being also 
the anniversary of our national indepen- 
dence. 

'T is the maddening; cannon's voice, 

Ushering* in a jubilee ; 
Calling millions to rejoice 

O'er Columbia's liberty. 

Such was the hour when erst my Mary died, 

And left me widowed in this vale of tears ; 
One circling year around its course has hied, 

And mingled with the flood of endless years; 

Since with a love that banished gathering fears, 
And faith that bound her to Jehovah's throne ; 

She fled, where now no jarring notes she hears. 
But joins the choir whose songs and joys are one, 
"While I pursue my weary pilgrimage alone. 

O, how this dawn, this peaceful matin hour. 

Recalls her dying scene with all its woe, 
And fills my soul with anguish. It has power 

To wake new grief, to cause new tears to flow : 

For now before the last, unyielding foe, 
I see her sink. I hear her last, sweet tone 

Of earthly lore, of blissful hope. The glow 
Upon her faded, lily cheek is gone ; 
And ail I loved below, to Heaven's bright ..world has flown. 

Again, in angry burst of flame, 

The cannon roars from vender heights 



i MY MINISTER. 

To tell a nation's deathless fame, 
.Their valor, and their conquering might. 

But I will go and linger yet awhile, 

At this lone hour, where low her ashes sleep ; 
There is a charm in nature's morning smile, 

That soothes arid calms, but helps the heart to weep. 

This humble mound o'er which the wild briers creep. 
Is dear to nature's feelings in my breast ; 

Beside its swelling turf, in silence deep, 
'T is sweet to think my weary frame may rest, 
And here with hers, ascend to mansions of the blest. 

Yet must this thought be hushed. Pilgrims below 

Have no abiding place. A future day, 
Welcomed like this, with pomp, and noise, and show, 

May wake my grief, whe re friends do not betray, 

Where truth does not offend, or love decay. 
In some new sphere, where heavenly dews descend, 

A peace prevails beneath religion's sway, 
In doing good may pass, in peace may end 
My mortal course, with heaven and earth my friend. 

Still the same pang that wrung my heart at first, 

When here was laid her cold, loved, lifeless clay, 
Must be revived, when called to leave that dust 

Lone slumbering here ; I sojourn far away ; 

No more to press this turf at dawn of day, 
Or when yon rock reflects its latest flame, 

No more to listen to the warbler's lay, 
That seems to chant the music of her name, 
As if to banish sorrow, winged spirits came. 



MY MINISTER. 7? 

Loud again the welkin rings. 

And echoes speak from western hills ; 

The north and south the clangor flings, 
Then silence all the valley fills. 

And silence well befits this early hour, 

Deep grief and silence love the church-yard scene ; 
My bleeding heart here finds a healing power, 

Amidst these spreading shades of deep, dark green 

It oft revives — is peaceful and serene ; 
For oft it feels her lingering presence nigh, 

A seraph blest, to mortal eyes unseen ; 
To stay the gush of woe, the bursting sigh, 
And bear my thoughts awaj- to her above the sky. 

Here too, I feel that earth shall pass away, 

I seem to hear the archangel's final cry ; 
Louder than that which wakes this natal day, 

Spread round the world in thunder through the sky ; 

Bidding its myriads to the judgment fly. 
Then shall my Mary's sleeping, mouldering form, 

In youth celestial, never more to die ; 
No more to feed the grave's insatiate worm, 
Rise safe, above the ruins of earth's latest storm. 

Then peaceful be her slumbers yet awhile, 
Mourner and, mourned here may shortly rest ; 

These little flowers that weep, and blush and smile, 
Now in their summer hue, and beauty drest, 
May deck the clod upon my mouldering breast ; 

Together here may lie our mortal frames ; 
.Mingled as erst our souls in union blest, 



id MY MINISTER. 

Till marble, frail memorial of our names, 
And nature's self, dissolve in universal flames. 

How truly were realized the sentiments 
expressed in the sixth stanza. He ivas sit- 
uated where ' heavenly dews' descended, 
where c peace' prevailed beneath ' religion's 
sway.' ; In doing good' he passed his days, 
and died in triumph, with ^heaven and 
earth' his \ friend.' 



CHAPTER XT. 

' I am your friend,' said my minister to 
me one day. And I shall never forget the 
peculiar expression of his countenance as 
he uttered these words. In speaking to 
him I was rather too hasty in saying, that 
all my friends advised me to take a certain 
step. ' No,' said he, 4 they did not ; for I 
am your friend, and I did not advise you to 
do it.' I could make no reply ; for I knew 
him to be my friend — real friend * r and this 



MY MINISTER. 79 

is the reason why I love to cherish his raem- 
orv. and transcribe for the benefit of others, 
those productions of his. which were writ- 
ten with so much taste and feeling/ The 
following on the Character of Judas, is well 
worthy the attentive perusal of every read- 
er, old or young. 

This man reached an eminence in crim- 
inality, to which very few of our species 
have attained. He is presented to us on 
the pages of inspired history as one distin- 
guished by a single distressing peculiarity 
from all who have passed away from the 
scenes of probationary existence amidst 
those of endless retribution. Slight and 
trembling as is the hope which lingers 
around the destiny of multitudes who have 
finished their mortal course ; and however 
strong may be our persuasion in view of 
the character of their life and death, that 
great numbers of our race are in the world 
of eternal despair : yet of him alone can it 
be said with the confidence inspired by the 
express declaration of unerring truth, that 



80 MY MINISTER. 

his soul is eternally lost. It is not that he 
was pre-eminently guilty ; it is not by his 
ruinous act, he fulfilled the predictions of 
prophecy, it is not that he sinned against 
perfect goodness : but he stands forth dis- 
tinguished by this, that it had been good 
for him if he had never been born : that he 
went to his own place — the place prepar- 
ed for the devil and his angels. Whatever 
has been the doom of others, we know that 
Judas Iscariot is irrecoverably and eternal- 
ly lost. Lost in a way more terrible than to 
be annihilated,. Lost by an everlasting per- 
dition. This peculiarity in his case taken 
in connection with the place he held among 
the first disciples and apostles of Christ 
gives to his history and character a singu- 
larly painful interest, and invites the mind 
to him as a most mortifying and yet instruc- 
tive subject of contemplation. 

In him may be seen in their naked pre- 
eminences those hateful features of sin 
which have the most threatening aspect on 
the future condition of the soul. He ena- 



MY MINISTER. 81 

bles us to mark not only the old way the 
wicked have trodden, but the place to which 
the wicked inevitably go. 

Where he was born, who were his pa- 
rents, or what were his early habits and 
pursuits, we are hot informed. He w 7 as one 
of the twelve who in the early part of our 
Savior's ministry were selected as his par- 
ticular disciples, and gifted with power 
against unclean spirits, to cast them out, 
and to heal all manner of diseases with 
them. He was numbered, and obtained 
part of the ministry and apostleship of his 
divine Master. From all that appears on 
the pages of the Evangelists, his character 
was without suspicion, until very near the 
termination of his earthly course. There is 
no intimation that he suffered by a com- 
parison with his fellow disciples either in 
his visible attachment to the Savior, or in 
the manner of fulfiling the duties of his of- 
fice. He preached and wrought miracles 
like the rest of the twelve. Indeed while 
Peret did not escape censure from the Sa- 

F 



&J, MY MINISTER. 

vior for savoring not the things that be of 
God, but those that be of men; and while 
James and John were reproved for their 
ambitious desires, desires of pre-eminence 
in his kingdom, Judas seems to have passed 
along without reproach. He neither re- 
buked his Master when he began to foretell 
his approaching sufferings, nor aspired af- 
ter distinction in his spiritual empire. — 
Though favored with an opportunity of 
practicing fraud, from being the common 
depository of the pecuniary resources of 
the whole company of his fellow disciples, 
it does not appear, that he was even sus- 
pected of dishonesty previous to the mourn- 
ful development of his true character, in 
his traitorous engagement with the chief 
priests and captains. He doubtless con- 
cealed with a caution inspired by a con- 
sciousness of the rottenness of his character, 
every thing in his feelings or views, which 
might lead to a disclosure of himself. Or 
the better to effect his ultimate design, he 
thought it prudent to pursue a course which 



MY MINISTER. 83 

would appear most opposite to his actual 
intentions. However this may be it is 
manifest, that at the affecting season on 
the day previous to the night on which the 
Lord was betrayed, when he first intimated 
that one of his disciples would be guilty of 
that, not one of the simple-hearted and un- 
suspecting disciples thought Judas was the 
one. Each more suspected himself than his 
fellow. 

All the circumstances which are seen to 
have had an agency in prompting Judas to 
his traitorous act, and which led to the rev- 
elation of his true character, are of a na- 
ture extremely interesting, tender and melt- 
ing. Enough, one would have supposed 
of the tender and subduing in these circum- 
stances to have disarmed the traitor of his 
murderous purpose. The first thing in the 
narrative of the sacred historian which lets 
us into the secret of this man's reigning 
passion, and which is seen to rouse that 
passion from its hidden slumbers was an 
incident which occurred at Bethany only a 
i2 



84 MY MINISTER. 

few days before the Savior suffered. In 
that delightful family of piety and love to 
which our Lord so often retired, an enter- 
tainment was made for him and his disciples 
at the close of this feast of love, at which 
the still careful Martha served, ' Mary took 
a pound of ointment of spikenard, very cost- 
ly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wip- 
ed his feet with her hair : and the house 
was filled with the odor of the ointment.' 
This strong expression of fervent and rev- 
erential affection for her Lord, awakened 
in the traitor, deep feelings of envy and 
jealousy, and the great expense with which 
it was accompanied touched his feelings of 
avarice. His cold, calculating prudence 
forsook him. In a hasty moment he drop- 
ped in part at least, the mask of cautious 
concealment under which he had long been 
acting. He could not avoid letting it for 
once appear how little he thought of hon- 
oring his Master, and how much he thought 
of adding to the treasury of which he had 
the care, ' why was not this ointment sold 



MY MINISTER. 

for three hundred pence and given to the 
poor.' The seeming regard for the inter- 
est of the poor thus introduced as a reason 
for objecting to so rich an offering being 
made to Christ when viewed in connection 
with the remark of the apostle John, who 
wrote after there had been a most full ex- 
hibition of all the long hidden iniquity of 
his false-hearted associate, cannot be con- 
sidered as any thing less than an addition- 
al evidence of his base and groveling cu- 
pidity. This, continues the beloved John, 
1 This he said, not that he cared for the 
poor, but because he w r as a thief, and had 
the bag. and bare what was put therein. 5 
Thus from the further disclosure which 

had come to the knowledge of the evange- 
ls o 

list, it appears that Judas had been in the 
habit of betraying his trust long before he 
betrayed his Master. That he had been a 
secret thief before he became an open 
traitor. 

The next incident detailed in the pages 
of the gospel, connected w 7 ith the painful 



86 MY MINISTER. 

disclosure of the cherished temper and 
aims of this wicked man grew immediately 
out of the one just noticed. By that trans- 
action his avaricious passion was inflamed, 
and the still more malignant temper of re- 
venge was excited. He could not bear to 
see what he so much coveted expended on 
one whom he never truly loved, and thus 
put beyond his own eager grasp after gain. 
And when he found the Savior, instead of 
falling in with his views, justified the affec- 
tionate Mary in making the costly oblation, 
he determined at once to gratify his avarice 
and his revenge. He, accordingly, went 
unto the chief priests, and said unto them, 
What will ye give me and I will betray him 
unto you? And they covenanted with him 
for thirty pieces of silver, and from that time 
he sought opportunity to betray him. What 
dark and awful features does his depravity 
assume! how determined his enmity to all 
goodness! and how impenetrable his obdu- 
racy ! That in such a place, and amidst 
such a scene of love and harmony, of good- 



MY MINISTER. ST 

ness and truth, of winning grace and melt- 
ing" tenderness, he could form a purpose so 
infernal. That he could leave a company 
whose tastes, and aims, and employments 
were so much like heaven, to commune 
with those whose temper and feelings were 
so allied to hell ! that he could withdraw 
from those who were worshiping his Mas- 
ter to plot with those who were thirsting 
for his blood i But the next development of 
his character which we hear, presents it 
with still darker shades. After having sold 
his Lord, and conspired with his fiercer en- 
emies, and while he was watching for an 
opportunity to give him up to their brutal 
rage, he could return to the bosom of the 
little consecrated circle of the Savior's 
household, and repose on the unsuspecting 
confidence of his fellow disciples. He 
could take his wonted place among the 
twelve, and put on the appearance of una- 
bated attachment to them and their Mas- 
ter. With them he could celebrate the 
feast of unleavened bread, and eat the pass- 



88 MY MINISTER, 

over. And when, during these solemn ser- 
vices, the Savior, in view of the near ap- 
proach of the horrid act, which was to re- 
veal that wicked one as he was, became, 
6 troubled in spirit,' and testified, and said, 
' verily, I say unto you, that one of you 
shall betray me,' he could assume the ap- 
pearance of surprise and grief, and recip- 
rocate the look of anxious but doubting in- 
quiry from his associates, when each of the 
sorrowful disciples had, in his turn, propos- 
ed the anxious interrogatory, Lord, is it I ? 
he could dare to mock the heart-searching 
Immanuel with the same question. He 
could remain in that sacred society until 
Christ had made it known to the disciple 
leaning on his bosom, and to Peter, at whose 
suggestion the question was asked by the 
beloved John, that it was the individual to 
whom he should give a sop, when he had 
dipped it. He could linger there, until he 
had actually received the sop ; until the 
Lord had declared to him openly, ' Thou 
art the man.' He then having received the 



MY ^MINISTER. 89 

sop went immediately out, and it was night. 
Whatever were the reasons which finally 
induced him to withdraw, he was not com- 
pelled to retire. Perhaps he went out af- 
ter he was known to be the heartless hypo- 
crite and the bloody minded traitor. He 
did not choose to meet the eyes of these 
brethren, on whose unsuspecting confidence 
he had so long imposed. Much less to meet 
those eyes which afterward looked Peter 
into penitence, and which had been looking 
on his heart, through all his guilty course 
ofsesrtt impiety, ©r perhaps he went im- 
mediately out, because he could no longer 
bear their company, their spiritual conver- 
sation, their fervent and heavenly worship, 
or, perhaps, he directly left them, because 
the night had come, and his were works of 
darkness, because the hour had arrived in 
which he was to meet the murderous priests 
and captains to fulfil his engagements with 
them. 

But having received the s@p, he went 
immediately out, and consequently was not 



90 MY MINISTER. 

present at the institution of the Eucharist. 
This is a point which may not be clear to 
all. Some have supposed that he was 
present and partook of the first Lord's sup- 
per, and from this supposed fact, have in- 
ferred the inexpediency of guarding with 
such solicitude, this holy ordinance from 
the approach of the wicked and unworthy. 
Those who will carefully examine in con- 
nection the different accounts given of this 
transaction in Matthew, Mark, and John's 
gospels, will be satisfied Judas could not 
have been one of those who united in the 
first celebration of this ordinance. From 
Luke's gospel, following his arrangement 
of particular occurrences, we should in- 
deed be led to the opposite conclusion. 
But it should be borne in mind, that this 
evangelist narrates events without special 
regard to chronological order. As soon as 
Judas had received the sop, which was part 
of the passover, he went immediately out, 
and it was night. He heard nothing of that 
unearthly conversation, which passed be- 



MY MINISTER. 91 

tween Christ and his disciples, at the first 
sacramental table, and which the apostle 
John has so faithfully recorded in the 14th, 
15th, loth and 17th chapters of* his gospel. 
Judas Iscariot witnessed nothing of that in- 
describable scene whieh passed in Geth- 
semane, before he and the officers from the 
chief priests and pharisees came with lan- 
terns, torches, and weapons. He heard not 
those repeated prayers which that night, 
had there, from a soul exceeding sorrowful 
even unto death, trembled from his agoniz- 
ed lips. But he did hear from those lips, 
as he there approached and marked him 
out to his blood-thirsty companions with a 
kiss — Friend! wherefore art thou come? 
Judas betrayest thou the Son of Man with 
a kiss? Here the pen of inspiration, in the 
painful delineation of this wicked man's 
character; as if no additional feature of 
malignity could be gathered about human 
depravity, stops. What can imagination 
conceive more bare, black, loathsome, or 
condemning? Surely there is nothing fig- 



92 MY MINISTER. 

urative in our Savior's representation — 
' Have I not chosen you twelve, and one of 
you is a devil.' Well might it be said of 
him, that, after the sop, ' satan entered into 
him.' Truly had he become an incarnate 
devil ; more malignant and treacherous, 
and deceptive than he, who assailed the 
Savior with temptation forty days and forty 
nights in the wilderness. Here the badge 
of friendship is made the instrument of 
treachery. Here a token of love is em- 
ployed as a sign to the enemies of Christ, 
that the traitor had greater enmity than 
they. Enmity against whom ? Enmity 
against perfect goodness, perfect loveli- 
ness, perfect meekness, perfect gentleness 
and truth ! How was it manifested ? — 
Amidst circumstances every way suited to 
strip malignity of its venom, enmity itself 
of its rancor, and hostility itself of its pow- 
er to harm. Well might the wretch who 
grew up, under such circumstances, to such 
a stature of baseness, hypocrisy, treachery 
and crime — when he beheld the condem- 



MY MINISTER. Vo 

ned, innocent one, whom he had betrayed, 
and the worthless resource of his own ini- 
quity, be expected to terminate his own mor- 
tal career by taking vengeance on himself. 
In view of this distressingly interesting 
occurrence; it is scarcely possible we should 
not be reminded of the danger of heartless- 
ness in religious exercises. All that gives 
any value, any importance, any acceptance 
in the view of God to such exercises, aris- 
es from their connection with the move- 
ments of the affections. To preserve this 
connection invariable, is as difficult as it is 
important. It cannot be done without in- 
cessant vigilance and effort. There is a 
perpetual tendency in every religious act 
of man in the present world, to degenerate 
into a mere dead and barren skeleton of 
external forms and ceremonies. To pre- 
serve this system of mere externals, com- 
plete and comely, and ever imposing is an 
easy task, and one that is not seldom sub- 
stituted for that fervent inward process, 
which keeps the glow of pious feelings alive, 



94 MY MINISTER. 

imparting to the entire system, a fresh ani- 
mation and vigor. Persons of little or no 
piety are known to preserve the appearance 
of not being wholly dead in their hearts; 
not by waking up their hearts and fanning 
the flame of piety there, but by adopting 
the language, embracing the opinions and 
following in the train of such as have gain- 
ed reputation for their heart religion. Ju- 
das could talk as well as any of the disci- 
ples. It is not known that he was behind 
any of the other apostles as a preacher. — 
He is not represented as differing from them 
in his religious sentiments. And up to the 
period of only a few days before the fearful 
development of his character, was appa- 
rently as blameless as either of his fellow 
disciples and yet he was at the same time 
destitute of any heartfelt interest in the sa- 
cred duties to which he seemed to be giv- 
en, and never truly engaged with the heart 
in a single religious act which he perform- 
ed. And think you, there have not been 
many others, whose character for piety 



MY MINISTER. 95 

stood as fair as his did, almost to the last, 
and yet who were as dead at heart as he, 
but not being presented with an occasion 
like that which brought out the dark line of 
his character; were first reviewed in the 
light of eternity ! With what power does 
this subject address those who are accus- 
tomed to attend religious services and to 
engage in outward acts of devotion with a 
cold and lifeless heart, with no warm move- 
ment of the affections. Let all heartless 
pretenders to spiritual religion remember 
that they are treading in the old way, in 
which the wicked Judas trod. Let them 
tremble lest ere long they find themselves 
lost spirits with him in the world of woe ! 

In the case of Judas Iscariot, may be 
seen the fatal effects of the love of money. 
With him it was eminently the root of all 
the evil which came upon him. Whatever 
appears to have been his reigning passion 
before he was called to follow Christ, he 
doubtless had become inordinately addict- 
ed to the pursuits of worldly riches. This 



96 Mr MINISTER. 

passion continued to prevail, fostered and 
strengthened it is probable by his being 
made the depository of the scanty resour- 
ces of his Lord's house-hold. So greedy 
was he of gain, that, as is intimated by the 
Apostle John, he fraudulently converted to 
his own use, what belonged to the whole 
company in common. He was a thief, and 
had the bag, and bare what was put therein. 
His desire to augment the sum committed 
to his disposal, led him to regard with in- 
dignation the costly gift bestowed on the 
Savior by a devoted female disciple. He 
could not endure the idea that any one 
should receive gifts but himself. Nor did 
his desire of gain stop here. No ! for thir- 
ty pieces of silver, less than twenty dollars, 
he engaged to betray into the hands of his 
murderers the Lord of life and glory, Well 
did a heathen poet exclaim, O ! cursed 
love of money : to what wilt thou not drive 
the hearts of mortals ! 

But does this fallen and lost Apostle 
stand alone among the avowed disciples of 



MY MINISTER. 97 

Jesus ? Are none of us criminally and ru- 
inously swayed by the same execrable pas- 
sion ? Oh! what a fearful answer does the 
slightest acquaintance with the Christian 
church furnish to this inquiry. To say 
nothing of that large branch of the nomi- 
nal church in which there is literally mer- 
chandize made of the souls of men. Dowe 
see none of the tokens of avarice among 
the purest with whom we are acquainted ? 
Is there nothing that resembles the ex- 
changing of Christ for worldly gain ? Are 
there no individuals in the church, who, in 
practice propose the same question which 
Judas did, to the enemies of his Master — 
' What will ye give me and I will deliver 
him unto you. 5 Are there none who clear- 
ly evince by their conduct, that they are 
ready to sacrifice the dearest interests of 
the church on the altar of mammon ? Are 
there none who plainly care not what be- 
comes of Christ or his cause, if they can 
only get money ? But is not every profess- 
ing Christian betraying Christ and his cause, 



93 MY MINISTER. 

who by an eager and restless craving after 
wealth, misrepresents the nature of the re- 
ligion he professes and misleads those who 
would seek its purity and its hopes. ' What 
will ye give me and I will deliver him unto 
you,' plainly speaks that man's conduct, 
who when he enters upon the transactions 
of the business and bargaining world, leaves 
his Bible and his religious principles behind 
him, in his closet. Oh ! can you tell me 
how far from following in the path which 
Judas trod, is every one, who does not seek 
first the kingdom of God and his righteous- 
ness and how much a man will be profited 
if he gain the whole world and lose his own 
soul? Think of Judas, think of Dives — 
think of Demas. 

The subject teaches .us, that the most 
favorable outward religious advantages are 
not sufficient to bring obstinate sinners to 
love and obey Christ. If they were, the 
Unhappy Judas had not fallen by trans- 
gression that he might go to his own place. 
For three years he enjoyed the constant in- 



MY MINISTER. 99 

struction and example of one who spake 
as never man spake, and lived as never man 
lived. He journeyed with him, he heard 
his conversation, he listened to his prayers 
— and was present at his impressive public 
discourses. He was privileged to hear from 
the lips of Immanuel such remarkable di- 
rections as these — Lay not up for your- 
selves treasures in heaven, for where your 
treasure is, there will your heart be also — 
Sell that ye have and give alms ; provide 
yourselves bags that wax not old, a treas- 
ure in heaven that putteth not away. But 
it is not possible, nor necessary to repeat 
all that he heard against covetousness, and 
yet he cherished a covetous, avaricious 
spirit to the last. How constantly was he 
reminded that the heart is chiefly respect- 
ed by God ; and yet he ventured to be a 
heartless deceiver unto the end. He could 
mock the heart-searching Savior with ex- 
pressions of affectionate attachment — 
could say, Hail master, and kiss him, when 
he was intent only on delivering him into 
g2 



100 MY MINISTER. 

the hands of his murderers. If he could re- 
main such, and conduct thus, in the family 
of Christ, can it be supposed that heaven it- 
self can cure the obstinate sinner morally. 
May it not have been one reason why the 
Savior gave this abandoned man a place in 
his house-hold, that it might be seen how 
powerless are all means of themselves to 
effect any desirable change in the nature 
and temper of man's heart. Many are call- 
ed, but few are chosen. Multitudes enjoy 
in a signal degree the means of salvation, 
but only here and there one is manifestly 
a saved sinner. Let this truth come to un- 
converted persons, with awakening empha- 
sis. They can remain the enemies of God 
in the midst of his most devoted friends. — 
They can retire from acts of external wor- 
ship with the disciples of Christ and go 
away to commune with his enemies. They 
can withdraw from places dreadful with 
his gracious presence, and go to hold eter- 
nal communion with the lost in their own 
place. 



MY MINISTER. 101 

We see from this subject that the most 
sacred offices may be filled by those who 
are insincere and heartless. In some re- 
spects, the office which Judas occupied, 
was more sublimely sacred, than the exist- 
ing office of the Christian ministry. He 
was numbered with the disciples of our 
Lord, and had obtained part of their minis- 
try. It was an office to which was attach- 
ed the gifts of miracles. But while he fill- 
ed it he was a devil in temper. He wrought 
miracles, but would not himself be con- 
verted by a miracle of mercy. He preach- 
ed repentance, but would not himself re- 
pent. He understood the mystery of re- 
demption, but cherished the mean- while 
the work of the mystery of iniquity within 
his own bosom. He was the means of 
saving others, but was himself a cast-away. 
While he led others to Christ for salvation, 
he was himself active in having Christ led 
away to be destroyed by his enemies. It 
would be the height of the blindest pre- 
presumption, to suppose that he is the only 



102 MY MINISTER. 

reputedly evangelical minister that has 
perished. His affecting example teaches 
us that there is nothing in the office to pre- 
vent so disastrous an end. It has taught 
us, that it is possible for even the appa- 
rently active and self-denying to be cast 
away and lost. And the history of Christi- 
anity entirely concurs with this testimony. 
O ! how many have professed to receive 
the truth, and for a season have appeared 
to be ruled by it, who have at length evinc- 
ed that they never had truth in the inward 
part. To gain a name among the celebra- 
ted of the earth, has induced not a few 
nominal ministers of the despised Jesus to 
sell their principles, their peace, the Sa- 
vior, and their souls. And what .can give 
inward purity to such ; and snatch them 
from the ruinous tide ! Not the badges of 
their hallowed office, — not the holy func- 
tions they hypocritically perform ; not the 
long prayers they may offer. 

O, wretched ! forever lost ! forever curst ! 
Whom mammon thus embraces ; none can wake 



MY MINISTER. 103 

Their conscience from its lethargy ; none 
Can stop the courses of that baleful dreg, 
And stem the swift destruction ! 

Christian friends, how does he discover 
our case to be ? Might he not say to us, as 
he did to his little circle of disciples, ' ye 
are clean but not all.' O ! if the same 
scene were acted over again, and the same 
token of insincerity and treachery given us, 
as on the same night in which he was be- 
trayed ; how many of us having received 
the sop, would be hastening immediately 
out? If any of us have betrayed our Lord 
by a groveling and avaricious devotion to 
mammon, let us bring forth our execrable 
gains to those with whom we may have 
bargained him away, confess our guilt — 
sincerely repent and then come and hang 
our souls on the bosom of bleeding love. 
Here we can safely rest. Here in commun- 
ion large, and high, and everlasting, we 
may sweetly and foyfully mingle. Nothing 
can tear away the penitent, confiding soul 
from Christ. Nothing can disturb its peace ; 
embitter its pleasures, or blast its hopes ! 



104 MY MINISTER, 



CHAPTER XVI. 

In the Sabbath school department, my 
minister took a deep interest — and often 
from the pulpit he enforced the obligations 
of parents to bring up their children under 
the religious influence of this institution. 
6 Each Sabbath school class,' said he, ' is a 
little church ; and the teacher is as much 
bound to be faithful to his charge, as the 
pastor of a church is to his flock. And O, 
if a teacher is faithful, what incalculable 
blessings will result from his labors ! ' And 
surely no one should engage in this em- 
ployment, unless he is willing to labor and 
pray with that zeal and earnestness which 
the cause demands. For, it may be, that 
on an individual's exertions, may rest the 
salvation of hundreds of souls. x\nd if he 
is not careful to perform his duty to the 
immortals committed to his care, what ex- 



MY MINISTER. 105 

cuse can he plead before Him whom he 
must one day meet to answer for the deeds 
done in the body ? 

The following was written by my minis- 
ter on a visit to the grave of a dear friend. 

It was an hour of anguish, and yet dear 

To one long nurtured in the school of woe ; 
For then he came to shed the farewell tear, 

O'er the lone grave of all he loved below. 

Thither how oft had come with no vain show 
Of grief; — it was a luxury to pour 

Affection's tears ; and now when forced to go, 
Where he could pass her grass-grown grave no more, 
He came to weep adieu, to mournful pleasure o'er. 

Already had he known a pang more keen, 

Than the first rush of dark affliction's storm. 
It was the sorrow of that parting scene, 

When lowly bending o'er that cla}'-cold form 
Of youthful spouse — all coffined for the worm- 
He gazed farewell, and tore himself away, 

To see her now no more, till flames deform 
Material things, and from blank ruin's sway 
Creation rise, and smile, mid Heaven's own day. 

Yet had he solace in his early grief — 
The dear, lone spot, where her loved ashes lie, 

Gave to his stricken, widowed heart relief; 
Chastened his sorrow, while it woke a sigh ; 
Told she was gone — yet spoke her presence nigh. 



106 MY MINISTER. 

While there he hoped to rest his weary frame. 

Ah ! swift all bliss in earth-born hopes must fly ; — 
In bitter loneliness of soul, he came, 
To kindle at her grave deep sorrow's wasteful flame. 

Autumn and eve blended their kindred reign, 

And silent spread their gloomy vestments far ; 
Low in the west, first in night's shining train, 

Beamed the soft splendor of the vesper star. 

It was an hour that stills the daily jar 
Of busy life — when those who live to mourn, 

And those careering in soft pleasure's car, 
With like emotions from the heart, do scorn 
The toys and low delights of this dark world's sojourn. 

The cold white marble felt his throbbing breast, 

While burning thoughts were crossing thro' his mind ; 
Her former sufferings, present endless rest ; 

His loss, her gain, in happiness refined ; 

The hope of that bright world where friends are joined; 
The wreck of hopes, too, fondly cherished here ; 

Professed friends, proud, heartless and unkind ; 
Experience large of sympathies sincere. 
These came upon his mind, and gushed the falling tear. 

He thought how soon around her rural bed, 

Yon busy dwellers, summoned one by one, 
Must come, and lowly lay the unconscious head, 

Where congregated thousands sleep alone. 

He thought of those who with a heart of stone, 
Had spurned his message and himself away ; 

And those who loved him for his labors done, 



MY MINISTER. 107 

Must soon commingle their unconscious clay, 

And be themselves disclosed in truth's unquenching ray. 

His widowed heart a pastor's trials felt — 
Yet felt forgiveness for each injury borne ; 

With prostrate soul beside the grave he knelt, 
And from a bosom by affliction torn, 
And taught the loss of earthly good to mourn, 

Poured in deep silence agonizing prayer. 
Forgotten were the hatred and the scorn, 

But not the souls of those his recent care — 

And as to heaven he looked, he hoped to meet them there. 

Swift alternation of keen grief and joy 

Forced hours to moments — mid devotion's flame 

His spirit freed from earth-born woes alloy 

Arose, and, though still on her mouldering frame, 
He wept, loud sobbing oft her cherished name. 

There was a deepning calmness in his soul, 

From the lone grave he turned — not as he came, 

For was it thought as he surveyed the pole, 

Or had earth passed away, or was the heavens a scroll? 



CHAPTER XVII. 

As I have often said before, my minister 
was a very humble man. He was a man 
low in his own eves — 'less than the least 



108 MY MINISTER. 

of saints.' Many evidences of this Chris- 
tian trait of character were often develop- 
ing themselves. A few weeks before he 
died, while sitting on a council for the or- 
ganization of a church, the candidates hav- 
ing been examined and retired, the moder- 
ator inquired of each member of the coun- 
cil, whether he was satisfied with the evi- 
dences of experimental piety exhibited by 
the candidates. When the question came 
to my minister, he raised his head, which 
had been reclined in deep reflection, and 
replied with affecting solemnity, <I think 
it more probable that they will go to heav- 
en, than that I shall.' During the whole 
process, he had evidently been applying to 
himself the questions, and test of Christian 
character, which were brought forward in 
the course of the examination. The truth 
is, he had an overwhelming view of human 
guilt, and of his own as a member of the 
human family; for his standard of Christian 
character, was unusually elevated. 

Such an instance of deep humility is 



MY MINISTER. 109 

rarely seen. It reminds us of the necessi- 
ty of always being humbled at the feet of 
Jesus, and imitating his example who was 
meek and lowly in heart. 

The following pretty effusion was writ- 
ten while the author was pursuing his stud- 
ies in college. 

There is a little fragile flower, 

That low depending on its stem, 
Is scarcely known beyond the bower, 
Where all unconscious of its power, 

It ever glows in dewy gem. 

It once arose in towering pride, 

And courted every passing gale, 
Exulting, threw its odors wide, 
Alluring to its gaudy side 

The dwellers of its native vale. 

But while it showed its tinsel glare, 

At early dawn, or pensive even, 
Not thinking that the world could bear 
Another flower so sweet and fair — 

'T was withered by the ' breath of heaven.' 

Now from its root, this floweret grows, 
But trembling at the gentlest breeze, 

Its scent around a fragrance throws, 

Unlike the lily or the rose, 

With scarce a tint to charm or please. 



110 MY MINISTER. 

Yet when with tempests breathing gloom r 

Its tendrils from its stalk are riven, 
0, then it spreads a varied bloom, 
And pours abroad a rich perfume — 

'T is nourished by the 'bread of heaven.' 

And oft it droops its lovely head, 

And breathes a fragrance to the sky, 

When those, its glaring beauties led 

To gaze upon its tints of red, 
Will pass it now neglected by. 

But what its name ? the reader cries \ 
Its ' class and order ' pray impart — 
A plant exotic from the skies, 
It blossoms here but never dies ; 
Its name is tenderness of heart. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

My minister was very solicitous that the 
reverence which is due to Deity, should al- 
ways be given. It pained him exceeding- 
ly, when in the house of God he observed 
any thing like irreverence. He always de- 
sired that his congregation might feel it to 
be a sense of duty, to enter the sanctuary 



MY MINISTER. Ill 

with solemnity pervading their countenan- 
ces. Sometimes, when he has observed a 
choir of singers manifest the least thought- 
lessness, before engaging in the solemn 
service of singing a song of praise to God, 
it has caused him great uneasiness. c I have 
been almost tempted to speak to them,' 
said he. None can tell how much his feel- 
ing soul was pained at this. And no less 
did it distress him, when, at the close of a 
Sabbath's services, he observed in his con- 
gregation a disposition to hurry away from 
the house of God. He thought it indicat- 
ed a disposition tired with the services of 
the sanctuary, and a longing desire to be 
away from the house of God. 

The following Ode was written for the 
anniversary of Washington's birth day, and 
sung on the occasion. 

While free-born millions swell the song, 

To hail this joyful day, 
To Heaven sublimest strains belong — 

To God the worship pay. 
He gave our hero, statesman, sage, 

And made him great and wise 5 



112 MY MINISTER. 

To Him let praise from every age, 
In halleluiahs rise. 

He armed our hero for the field, 
To shake oppression's throne, 

And made embattled legions yield — 
Be praise to God alone. 

He saw ambition, faction, pride, 

O'er fair Columbia lower, 
And sent great Washington our guide, 

In freedom's darkest hour. 

His fame shall live while ages roll 
Their mighty spheres along ; 

Then let us join with voice and soul, 
And raise to Heaven the song. 

For all the deeds and counsels given 

Of our immortal friend — 
While thus we crowd the gate of Heaven, 

To Heaven let thanks ascend. 



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